


gay bitches (also butches, ha) unite

by bigender dean winchester (homosexualitie)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean Winchester, Episode Tag, Episode: s02e02 Everybody Loves a Clown, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Sibling Bonding, Siblings Bullying Each Other, but in the fun way!, dean is a bisexual butch, sam is just here to be a little homophobic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27444514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homosexualitie/pseuds/bigender%20dean%20winchester
Summary: “So you’re a real butch guy, huh?” Ash says abruptly, and Dean looks up at him. He’s smiling, in a way that Dean tries very hard not to think of as leering.Sam, a booth over, chokes on his beer. Dean shoots him a glare.Ash continues, lowering his voice. “One might say you’re almost... overcompensating.”Sam definitely hears that, because he stands up and walks over to the bar, asking Ellen for a drink loudly.--It's just Dean getting shamelessly hit on by Ash. Hope you enjoy!
Relationships: Ash/Dean Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> dean/ash is still real, but what the FUCK is going on with ash's actor... i find the destiel grift VERY amusing, but still....

Ash keeps staring at Dean. Which— alright, Dean is used to that. He knows he’s a pretty attractive guy. Women like looking at him, it’s not a leap to assume that men like looking at him too. Just... he’s never had to confront that in an ally. Someone he could consider a friend.

And Dean _does_ want to consider Ash an ally, would like someone with his expertise helping him out. Or— there’s something else he wants from Ash, but he’s not sure how to put it into words. 

He sits down in a booth, drinks his beer. Ash, after a few moments, follows him. He’s carrying that old laptop, something he probably built from scratch. He puts the laptop down in the booth, turns its screen towards Dean.

“Sup?” Dean asks, a little wary. 

Ash gestures to the laptop. “You wanted to see this?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, just wanted to see how it works.”

Ash smiles. “Yeah. So basically I created a program that reads weather reports, and if any of the warning signs pop up, it’ll alert me. And I’ll let you know what I find out.” 

He explains a little more, how the program reads the data, what it does. Dean doesn’t quite understand it, but he’s too proud to admit it, so he nods and smiles. 

“Cool.” he says, because it _is_ cool, even though he doesn’t get it. There’s something easy in Ash’s intelligence, the way he carries it. Sam holds his college education in the way he walks, in the way he talks. 

Ash is much more laid back, with that _fucking_ mullet and the slow, easy way he walks. He seems normal. Closer to Dean’s wavelength, at least. It feels comfortable to talk to him, even as he looks Dean up and down like he’s his next meal.

They’re quiet for a second, and Dean listens to the sounds of the bar, the glasses clinking against the tables, the soft conversation two customers are having by the pool table.

He, pointedly, does not look at Ash.

“So you’re a real butch guy, huh?” Ash says abruptly, and Dean looks up at him. He’s smiling, in a way that Dean tries very hard not to think of as _leering_. 

Sam, a booth over, chokes on his beer. Dean shoots him a glare. 

Ash continues, lowering his voice. “One might say you’re almost... overcompensating.”

Sam definitely hears that, because he stands up and walks over to the bar, asking Ellen for a drink loudly. 

Dean scoffs. “I’m not overcompensating for anything.”

Ash laughs. “Oh _sure_ ,” he says, “Like you weren’t checking me out before. I’m a genius, remember. You can’t slip anything past me.”

“Alright,” Dean concedes. When they first met, Dean’s eyes had wandered a little, against his better judgement. “ _Maybe_.” He still doesn’t want to admit it, to cross that boundary. 

“See anything you like?”

Dean looks around the roadhouse. Sam’s pointedly not looking at him and Jo’s wiping down some tables. There are a few customers, but no one’s looking at them. No one cares what he does or says right now. 

He turns it back on Ash. “Did _you_?” he asks. 

Ash meets his eyes. “Yeah, I like butch guys,” he says, and smirks. “Besides, most of the hunters that come through here are a lot older than you, lot meaner too. Don’t exactly get much action out here.”

Dean can’t imagine the kinds of hunters that survive that long. He’s touched death twice already and came away scarred and wary. If those scars compound, if that wariness grows roots, turns into paranoia, then those hunters must be black holes of fear and rage. Dean doesn’t want to think about what that means for his future.

Ash leans a little closer, tilts his beer bottle on the table. “So what about you? Get much action, out there in the big wide world?”

Dean scans the room again. Sam’s struck up a conversation with Jo, who is perched on a stool beside him. Ellen is out of sight, probably in the back room. the two customers by the pool table are getting up to leave.

“No,” Dean admits, pulled into honesty by something he can’t explain. “Not really. I don’t have the time.”

Ash nods, makes a face. “Tough out there, for a guy as attractive as you?” He’s joking, but there’s something underneath the surface, something Dean can’t put his finger on. 

Dean doesn’t have conversations like this. And he especially doesn’t have conversations like this with other men, in broad daylight in an empty bar. There’s an easy way out here, he could shut Ash down easily, all he’d have to say is that he’s not into dudes. 

What frightens him is that he doesn’t _want_ to shut Ash down. He can’t tell if it’s because he likes the attention, the way Ash looks him up and down, the thrill of feeling like a prey animal or if he wants something more out of it. That scares him too.

He meets Ash’s eyes, leans forward in his seat. “It doesn’t feel right, to fuck around with chicks and then leave ‘em the next day.”

Ash raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t take you for a gentleman,” he says, and laughs. Dean blushes, feeling stupid. He’s not a high schooler with a crush, why is he acting like one?

But Dean doesn’t know what to say to him. Now, he knows, is probably his last chance to shut Ash down before this becomes a Thing. He doesn’t want to, though. He wants this to keep going, He wants Ash to like him, wants to see what comes of this. 

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” Dean says, raising his eyebrows. Ash grins, all teeth. When men look at Dean like this, he can never tell if he likes the helpless way he feels drawn to it, the way he wants to keep talking, wants Ash to keep looking him over. 

He looks over his shoulder, scans the room. Sam is still turned away from him, still talking to Jo. Dean feels like he’s standing on the edge of something big, something dangerous. When Dean was in middle school, some kid got his ass kicked for just looking wrong at another boy. Dean remembers it vividly, as if it was yesterday. 

Ash watches him carefully. Dean feels unsafe, in that adrenaline rush way he’s used to from hunting. 

“We’ll just have to find out, then,” Ash says, eyebrows furrowed. Dean clears his throat and sits back in his seat. 

Whatever tension was between them snaps, and Ash meets his eyes. “No?” he asks.

Dean shakes his head. “Another time,” he replies. Ash smiles.

“Let me give you my number then,” he says, “for the case.” 

Dean nods. “For the case,” he says, and smirks. He’s out of practice, he thinks, not smooth at all. But Ash still scrawls down his number on a napkin and slides it across the table to Dean. When Dean gets up to leave, Ash stands up too, walks over to the bar where Jo is pouring a glass of water for herself. 

Sam’s already out the door, but Dean hesitates in the doorway. He looks back at Ash, leaning over the counter to talk to Jo. His hair flips over his shoulder and he turns to watch Dean. 

Dean looks Ash up and down, trying not to seem too hungry. Ash notices, and he winks and gives Dean a thumbs up. “ _call me_ ,” he mouths.

Dean can’t imagine _not_ calling him after that.


	2. "Gay Rights!" - Sam Winchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm of the (probably controversial) opinion that Sam is just a little homophobic. He's not as homophobic as Dean, but every once in a while he'll say something stupid and Dean will laugh at him.

Sam is already in the van they drove here in, sitting in the passenger seat. Dean gets in and starts the car. They drive out of town in silence, Sam refusing to make eye contact with Dean. 

The fear that was pressing on Dean in the Roadhouse subsides a little, and he sits back in his seat. He hates driving this van, he hates not having the Impala. The one consolation is that he’s gonna have the car up and running as soon as possible. 

He speeds up once they reach the highway, turns on his music. 

“So Ash is gonna let us know if he sees anything,” he tells Sam over the music, keeping his voice even. 

“Dude, you are shameless,” Sam says. Dean laughs. 

“What d’you mean?” Dean asks, as innocently as he can. Sam shakes his head.

“You and Ash,” Sam says. “You’re so gross, man.”

“Come on, Sammy, can’t I have a little fun?” he asks.

“You just love the attention, don’t you?” Sam says, sounding disgusted.

Dean pauses. There  _ is _ a part of him that’s enticed by the attention, that likes the way people look at him. But there’s another part, buried deeper, that just likes what comes of the attention, the way he feels confident enough to say anything when it’s another man who he’s talking to.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Sue me! I like it when people like me!”

Sam scoffs. “You’re leading him on, then.”

“No,” Dean says, and flinches, immediately regretting his honesty. Sam’s going to make a big deal out of this, Dean knows. He can’t help himself. This is why they can never get along for more than a few hours— Sam always has to bring up the elephant in the room.

Sam sits straight up and turns to look at Dean. “ _ What _ ?”

He turns his music up. “What?” he replies, and shakes his head, as if to say  _ I have no idea what you’re talking about _ . Sam shuts the radio off. 

“Dean,” he says. “What?”

Dean glares at him. “We’re not talking about this,” he warns. “Not a word.”

“Wait,” Sam says. “No, we are talking about this.”

Dean turns the radio back on, turns the volume up as loud as it goes. “No!” he yells over the music. Sam shakes his head, defeated. 

And they don’t talk about it, for most of the five hour drive. As they get closer to Bobby’s scrapyard, Sam turns to Dean. “You know,” he starts, putting on a voice. “I don’t care who—”

“Stop right there, Sammy,” Dean says. “We’re still not talking about it.”

“I’m trying to be supportive!” Sam exclaims. 

Dean speeds up the van. “I don’t want to hear it. You didn’t hear anything, Sam.” 

Sam starts to say something else, but Dean turns onto the road leading up to Bobby’s and he stops.

After another moment, Sam says, “But seriously, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable—”

“Dude, I will stop the car and make you walk,” Dean snaps. Sam laughs. 

“What would you prefer, me hating you for being into men?” Sam asks.

Dean laughs. “Yeah, I’d prefer outright bigotry than whatever you’re giving me right now.” 

Sam looks over at him, shocked. “Why?”

“Because this is weird! It’s none of your business who I fuck around with, and it’s certainly not your business to tell me who I can or can’t be into.” 

Sam makes a face. “I’m just trying to say that I’m proud of you,” he says. 

“Well, don’t!” Dean says. 

Sam laughs, and that’s the end of it. They pull into Bobby’s scrapyard and Dean gets out of the van as fast as he can, picks up the discarded tools beside the Impala and gets to work. Sam doesn’t bother him for a few hours, and when he does they don’t talk about Ash or the Roadhouse. 

Dean is grateful for it, in the end. But he keeps a close eye on Sam, trying to detect if Sam’s looking at him differently. He still isn’t sure, really. 


End file.
